


In the Stars

by foxysquid



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Galaxy Garrison, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Keith (Voltron), Pining, Post-Kerberos Mission, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Space Flight, Stars, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-18 11:43:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13681008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxysquid/pseuds/foxysquid
Summary: Human love is written in the stars. Everyone on Earth is marked with a partial constellation. Every constellation has its match, its completion. Your stars illuminate when you find the person you're meant to be with. Unless you're Keith. He was born without so much as a single star, but he doesn't care about that. He thinks the whole thing's ridiculous—until he starts to fall in love.[Written for Sheithlentines 2018 for everynoteisajoy@tumblr, who requested soulmates. I'll be posting chapters throughout the submission period, but I wanted to start on Valentine's Day!]





	1. The Central Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosegardenlake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegardenlake/gifts).



The horizon was orange with sunset when Keith walked out onto the roof and saw Shiro silhouetted against that deep, vibrant color. Keith had been searching the grounds for him for a half hour. Fortunately, he had previously assembled a mental list of the places Shiro was most likely to go, and he'd gone down the list until he'd found him here. Shiro hadn't been in the first place Keith had looked, but he had been in the place closest to the stars. Of course.

Shiro's back was to Keith, and the shape of him was dark and distinct against the vivid sky. Keith paused to study him, letting his mind painstakingly record the image of that form and those colors, exactly as he saw it in this moment. He wanted to have it, to keep, like a photograph filed away—one that was only for him. No one else could ever see it. He liked to keep his keepsakes to himself. He could be sure they were safe.

Once Keith had stored away a satisfactory record of the moment, he let himself move forward. His body felt oddly light, as if the gravity of earth was slightly altered in Shiro's vicinity. He crossed the roof and took his place at Shiro's side. Shiro turned his head, far enough to accept Keith into his field of vision, without going so far as to look away from the sunset in progress.

"What are you doing up here?" Keith asked, realizing too late he sounded more accusatory than he felt. The primary reason that the roof hadn't been the first place he'd come to look was that he hadn't expected to find Shiro all on his own. Keith had assumed that Shiro would want to spend every minute possible with his friends here at the garrison, not sneak off alone to watch the sun setting.

If Shiro noticed anything amiss with Keith's tone, he didn't react to it. "I've only got a few sunsets left," he said. "I want to get the most out of them."

"Don't talk like that. You'll be back."

"I know. I will. I don't mean it like that—but once I'm gone, it'll be a long time before I get to experience another Earth sunset. So I want to get the most of them while I can. I'm going to miss them."

"You're going to miss a lot, I guess."

"A few things." Shiro smiled, but Keith felt irritated with himself. Everything he tried to say came out less mature and more foolish than he intended. "As you wisely pointed out, I'll be back. But everything seems more important, suddenly, when you're leaving it behind."

"Yeah." Keith was gazing diligently at the sunset, not allowing himself to meet Shiro's gaze as they talked about him leaving. "I can see that. I mean—not that I know what that's like. But I get it." He only knew that Shiro was going away, so Shiro was what seemed more important to him. Although as Keith himself had said, he would be coming back. Probably. Most likely. Unfortunately, Keith knew enough about the mission and other missions like it to be keenly aware of the dangers involved. Not that he didn't trust Shiro. He trusted Shiro more than anyone else, and his return was already a certainty, as far as Keith was concerned. That was what he believed, because he had to. If he hadn't been absolutely certain, he wouldn't have been able to bear it.

"Since you understand so well, you'll have to help me with it," said Shiro.

"Yeah?" Keith allowed himself to look directly at Shiro then, to record another image for himself to keep, memorizing the sight of Shiro's face warmed by the sun's fading rays. He struggled to keep his expression neutral. He didn't want to seem upset or too emotional. Shiro didn't need to deal with that in the few days remaining before his mission. "How?"

"I've got sunsets covered, but you're the only one who can provide me with something else very important."

"What's that?"

"Your company."

"Oh! Right." He tried not to look as flustered as he felt. Shiro had so many friends, probably more than Keith was aware of. He didn't flatter himself by telling himself that Shiro would want to spend more time with him than anyone else. No, that was only what he hoped would happen. "Sure. You can have that anytime." He tried to make his smile seem as natural as possible as he forced the corners of his lips upward. "You know that."

"Then I hope you have an open schedule for the next few days."

Keith shrugged. "It's pretty open."

"Good. Pencil me in, if you can."

"Does anyone really use a pencil anymore?" Keith asked. "That's so old-fashioned."

"Sure. I do."

"Well— _you're_ old-fashioned."

"I don't see anything wrong with that. There are some great things about the classics."

"You would think that."

Shiro reached out to put a hand on Keith's shoulder, and Keith froze at the brief touch. The hand lingered no longer than a moment, but Keith was conscious of the warmth and pressure of it through the fabric of his shirt. "I know you've got a lot of people to see," Keith said hurriedly, "so let me know when you want to see me. I'll be ready."

"Keith," Shiro said, "I'm not planning to set a limit on you. We'll spend time together. It doesn't have to be structured like that."

"But what about Chris?" Keith asked finally. He had to push the words out, because he didn't particularly want to say them. "I'm sure you want to spend time with him."

"Chris? Oh." Shiro fell silent and turned toward the sun, blinking in the brightness. "That's right. I didn't tell you yet. Chris and I aren't together anymore."

"You're not? Why?" It wasn't that Keith _wanted_ Shiro to have a boyfriend—even though his dissatisfaction with that had been making him feel miserably disloyal for months—but this news came as a surprise to him. Shiro hadn't mentioned having any problems with Chris. They'd seemed to be getting along fine. Chris was nice. Keith couldn't say much else about him, because he'd always felt awkward around him.

"We talked last night. He decided it would be better to end things, since I'm going to be away for so long."

"Oh." Keith was startled enough by the fact that Shiro was suddenly without a boyfriend. The thought that someone else would have wanted to end things with Shiro was practically unthinkable. "But like I said, it's not as if you're not coming back."

"That's true," said Shiro. "But I can understand where he's coming from. We haven't been together that long, and a separation like that would put stress on anyone. It's a bit beyond just long distance. It's extremely long distance. The longest distance in human history."

Keith could see that Shiro was trying to make light of a serious situation, but Keith didn't go along with him. He felt like he was unable to stop himself, to keep the harshness out of his words. "But it's not fair! It's not your fault that you're going away! And he knew it was going to happen. Why'd he wait until right before you left? That's just cruel."

"I don't think it was an easy choice for him to make. Honestly, Keith, I'd rather he break up with me than be unfaithful to me while I'm gone."

"Yeah. Well. He shouldn't do _either_."

"I'm starting to think that you're more upset about this than I am."

Keith was sure that that couldn't be true. He knew Shiro was upset, but he was pretending not to be. Shiro was much better at pretending not to be upset than Keith was. It was one of his many skills. Keith knew him well enough to be aware of that truth. He shouldn't be mouthing off like this at him, but the thought of someone hurting Shiro for such a ridiculous reason made him angry. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"No, don't apologize. I appreciate you standing up for me. Thanks."

Keith didn't feel he'd done anything to deserve being thanked, so he shrugged instead of saying _you're welcome_.

"Besides," Shiro went on. "It wasn't that serious, and it's not as if we were—"

He broke off, but Keith could easily guess what he had been about to say and finished his sentence. "—a match."

"Right," Shiro confirmed, after a brief hesitation. "We weren't a match."

It was obvious, now, that they couldn't be. Keith had often wondered if Shiro and Chris formed a matched set, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to ask about it. Shiro hadn't offered up the information himself. Star signs weren't a topic Shiro often discussed—unlike most people, who couldn't seem to shut up about them. Everyone was always looking for their match, the person who completed them. The other half of their constellation.

Keith's anger had been fading, but it surged again. "So it's fine to go ahead and throw someone away as soon as you feel like it, if they aren't part of your pattern?" Keith demanded. His skin was starting to feel hot. He was probably flushing. He probably looked ridiculous. Not like some etherial collection of stars—no, he was messy and heated, as all the blood had rushed to his head.

Shiro frowned. "No, I don't think so. That's not now how the world works. Every relationship is important, in its own way. But I can't expect everyone to feel the same way I do."

"You're being too _reasonable_ about this," said Keith.

"Am I?" Shiro laughed. "Now I know you're more upset than I am. Keith." Shiro said his name clearly and calmly, and through some magic, it did calm Keith down. His breathing started to slow. "It's really all right, Keith. I'm not going to lie and say that I like it, or that I'm not upset, but I would prefer to have Chris be honest with me rather than suffer through something that made him unhappy."

"That's the kind of thing you would say."

"Because I'm old fashioned."

Keith rolled his eyes. "Because you're you."

"Look on the bright side. I'll get to spend more time with you in the next few days."

Shiro was right. As usual. That was a bright side. Keith had been feeling jealous of everyone else Shiro might potentially spend time with, including Chris. Especially Chris. He found himself nodding, slowly. After the nod, he could feel his muscles loosen, his body unfolding as he started to relax. He hadn't realized how tense he'd become until he'd started to unwind. Shiro was better able to calm him down than anyone else he knew. "You make a good point."

"I do. I'm so reasonable and wise."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Just one or the other, then?"

He had been known to object to Shiro's clear-headedness when it was conflicting with one of his own certainties, but he didn't see Shiro as distant or dully sensible. "I'm not sure about _that_ , either." He felt a little better now, good enough to manage to joke with Shiro, but he remained shaken by what he'd learned. It was still mystifying that anyone would break off a relationship with Shiro, for any reason. It was easier for Keith to envision being able to reach out and touch the sun as it dwindled on the horizon. Putting his hand in the sun would be a much more rational act. Chris had been so lucky, and he had thrown away what he'd had.

Was that why Shiro had been alone up here instead of spending time with the many people who would have enjoyed his company? Was he upset about what had happened? It wasn't right that someone should make him feel that way so close to the day of his mission. If Chris had been here, Keith would have—he would have had a few words for him. That was all. Shiro wouldn't have wanted him to start a fight.

"Don't look so grim," said Shiro, and Keith realized he had been failing to hide his feelings. He had to work on that. "If you really do have some open time in your busy schedule, can I request a specific time and place?"

"Sure." He knew Shiro was teasing him, because he hardly had anything approaching a "normal" social life. Most of his friends were people he'd met through Shiro. It was more accurate to say that they were Shiro's friends, rather than _his_. He half-suspected that once Shiro was gone, they wouldn't make any special efforts to spend time with him. "Go ahead. I'll see what I can do."

"How about—here? And now."

Keith pretended to consider, making a quietly thoughtful noise. He closed his eyes. Then opened them—a progression too slow to be called a blink. "I can do that." Keith settled his gaze on the sunset again, but he had grown more aware of Shiro standing beside him. His breathing, the sound of his voice, the shape he made in the periphery of Keith's vision, and the presence he projected. Keith wished he could record every part of that in his mind somehow, so that he could keep it with him: the simple feeling of Shiro being _there_. He knew better than to try. It wasn't a feeling that could be replicated or faked.

"As long as you can spare a few minutes for me," said Shiro. "That's all I ask."

"As many as you want." He fell silent, and Shiro was silent beside him. Unlike when in the company of other people, Keith didn't feel he was pressed to do or say anything in particular—or anything at all. He could stand and do nothing but watch the sun set. He could contain two contradictory desires: wanting Shiro to go on his mission, to succeed and impress the world—and wanting Shiro to stay here. To never go away—at least, not without him.

Shiro would go. He wanted to go. Like the sun was leaving now. The sky was growing dark, and Keith could see the other, more distant, stars beginning to appear. In the sun's absence, there was beauty in the sky: all the scattered lights the sun's brightness hid from view. When Shiro was gone, would he be able to perceive something special that he hadn't seen before? Keith didn't think that was possible, but Shiro would come back. In time, it would be morning again. He wished he could reach out and take Shiro's hand. He didn't do that, but in another moment, he felt Shiro's hand settle lightly on his shoulder and come to rest there. The sun set, while they watched it together.


	2. Aldebaran, the Follower

Keith had always been different. He knew that, because in addition to _being_ different, he'd also been keenly _aware_ of his difference, for as long as he could remember. As a child, standing and watching the other children play, he had felt it, like a chill in the air. He was separate from them, for both reasons he could name, and others that he experienced but couldn't explain. He couldn't decide if knowing that the problem existed had made him feel more alienated, or less. Understanding it, he could explain it to himself and realize that it wasn't going to get better, but pure ignorance might have been easier. If it had been a matter of choice, he would probably have preferred to see his situation clearly, but he didn't get to decide. It wasn't easy knowing that he'd never belong, but he'd had to get used to it.

Worse than the awareness were the constant reminders of his differences. Based on the behavior of most people he interacted with, he would have guessed they loved reminding him, with every word and every action. Like this very blond guy, who was currently smiling at him and leaning in close, in an attempt to be either funny or conspiratorial. Or was he flirting? Keith really hoped it wasn't that. He hated flirting, whenever he managed to figure out that someone was doing it.

"So where is yours, anyway?" the guy asked Keith, as he and his two friends laughed. The friends were flanking the speaker, one per side. One of them was a girl, and the third one was another guy. Keith didn't know their names, although he recognized their faces. They were a year ahead of him. He didn't pay much attention to people he didn't know. He didn't need to know them.

Keith knew that he was scowling, but he made no attempt to soften his expression. He hated these question and answer periods. He knew where this was going. "Mine?" Like he'd never heard this question before, or the joking tone in which it was said. 

"Your star sign. Where is it?" The blond waved his hand in Keith's face. On the back of the upperclassman's hand, there was a scattering of birthmarks, but they were set apart from ordinary birthmarks by the fact that thin rays radiated from them, giving them the look of pronged stars. It was a familiar sight. Some people's stars were dark when they weren't illuminated, and others were pale, but no matter the shade, everyone was supposed to have some. Keith glowered at those tiny marks.

He generally tried to avoid close interaction outside of class with people he didn't know, but this group of three had managed to corner him after class, with some remarks about his simulator scores. He'd received a commendation for them earlier in the week, which was a stupid thing to be commended for. They weren't _real_. As if being praised wasn't annoying enough, more people wanted to talk to him when he did well. He'd prefer to be rewarded for a good performance by being left alone, instead. As usual, talk about pilot training had eventually shifted into the much less desirable realm of personal conversation. "None of your business," Keith said.

The guy laughed, as if Keith were joking. He wasn't joking. "Come on, let me see."

"None of your business," Keith repeated, regretting his failure to escape sooner.

"Come on, what—is it super embarrassing?" This one didn't give up easily. That was a good quality in some situations, but not this one. Keith didn't worry about not knowing the names of this guy and his friends, because he didn't want to know them. Why were they talking to him? He hadn't asked to be dragged into this.

"No, it isn't. But you are."

The guy blinked. "Are you serious?"

"I think he's serious," said the girl who was with him. She looked like the smartest of the three, and she was frowning.

The blond guy, who was the talker of the group, didn't listen to her. "Look, it's not a big deal," he insisted. "Don't be shy. Why can't you tell us? We're just making conversation."

While Keith wanted to indulge in some very strong conversation, he asked himself what Shiro would say at a time like this. He didn't go so far as to say what Shiro might have said, but he was able to hold himself in check enough to keep the worst words he could think of from slipping out. "Get lost," he said instead. Keith had had enough. He lunged forward and made a break for freedom, shouldering the guy aside in the process.

"Did he seriously get mad about that?" Keith could hear the words rising behind him, the tone incredulous and a little angry. "I didn't do anything!"

"I told you he was serious!" the girl snapped. At least she'd had some common sense, but Keith didn't want to talk to her either, not if that was what they wanted to talk about. He was tired of everyone endlessly obsessing on the same topic, as if there weren't thousands of better things to talk about. You couldn't get away from star signs if you wanted to, and Keith did. He would have given a lot to make it so that he never had to hear about them again.

Instinctively, Keith glanced down at the back of his hand, where the blond's star marks had been. His own hand was blank. Of course, people's star marks could be anywhere. They didn't only appear on the backs of hands. Everyone had different stars, in a different place. Two couples might have versions of the same real constellation, but there would always be a difference between them—like with snowflakes. According to poets and pop culture, anyway. The one thing that was always the same was that when someone was near the person they were supposed to be with, their stars would light up, echoing the stars in the sky.

Keith sighed, heavily. His hands curled into fists. He couldn't put that image out of his mind, no matter how much he wanted to forget it. In the hall, he moved through what felt like a sea of orange-and-white uniforms, obnoxious and difficult to navigate. As usual, he felt like everyone here was in on a secret he was left out of. Not that it was much of a secret, considering how much they talked about it.

No one knew exactly when humans, or possibly their pre-human ancestors, had developed the trait. There were other animals on Earth that would luminesce in the presence of a mate, but no other organism had evolved a system of bioluminescence that was both so complex and so specific. The star markings that people were born with were both unexplained and vastly influential.

The oldest human writings referred to the phenomenon, and images of it appeared in ancient art, so there was no era in recorded history in which people had lived without it. So many old poems referred to someone's stars lighting up. People loved to theorize about them. Some said the stars were proof that aliens had visited Earth and altered human DNA. Others claimed it showed that humans were meant to travel to the stars—and that it had inspired generations of researchers, inventors, and dreamers.

The medical term for a grouping of star marks was a dermoasterism, but there was no shortage of unofficial terms for them, some less accurate than others: constellations, star signs, galaxies, glows. Everyone was born with one. There were people with congenital conditions which obscured or removed a part of their body who lost their mark that way, but those cases were a relative rarity. The mark would still be there, in a way, hidden in their genetic code. It wouldn't be able to activate, but the potential for it had existed.

Not for Keith. There was nothing to explain why he wasn't marked with so much as a single star. Doctors had made note of it, but they hadn't come up with any possible underlying cause. As they had no reason to believe it would affect his health, they didn't _do_ anything about it. Not that there was anything to do. He didn't have any stars, and there was no way to fake them.

He never used to care. It had seemed ridiculous to him, the way so many people lived their lives according to marks on their bodies. People might spend their whole lives waiting for their stars to light up. You could hardly read a book or watch a movie—or have an extended personal conversation—without hearing about them. Not that everyone talked about them constantly, even if it felt like it. There were people who tried to ignore the marks and live their lives without relying on the stars, and public perception of them varied from era to era and culture to culture, but they were always present, always important in some way. They couldn't be escaped.

"Keith."

He froze at the sound of his name in that voice. Almost nothing else could have brought him up short so quickly. 

"I was hoping I'd find you here," said Shiro. "Is something wrong?"

By the time he turned to face him, Shiro was already standing beside him. "I'm fine," he said sharply. Too quickly.

"I don't know if I can believe that."

"Why not?"

"Let's just say you have an honest face."

No matter how much he wanted to contain his feelings, it was a struggle for Keith to manage to hold things in. It pained him to suppress a strong emotion for too long. The pressure kept building, until he had to release it. Although Keith didn't know how honest his face really was, because Shiro was one of the few people who showed signs of noticing when the feelings were building, before they exploded. Maybe his face was more honest with Shiro.

"Was someone giving you a problem?"

"No." He was irritated with his fellow students, but they probably hadn't been _trying_ to harass him. They'd been complimenting him at first, not that he'd enjoyed that either. It wasn't worth complaining about them. "I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, that's all."

Shiro smiled. "That's a surprising turn of events."

"You don't have to joke about it." He wasn't annoyed with Shiro, but his earlier annoyance was spilling over into the present conversation.

"Okay. No more jokes about that. Promise."

Shiro meant what he'd said. He'd promised, and so he wouldn't kid him about that anymore. True to his word, he immediately changed the subject. "I came by to ask if you wanted to go into town with me for lunch."

"Really? I can go?" Leaving the base in the middle of the day was against protocol, and under ordinary circumstances, it wasn't allowed without prior permission.

"Getting shot into space has its perks, as it turns out. Like being able to bend the rules a bit. I was able to commandeer a jeep for the afternoon. We can ride out now, if you're ready."

"Thanks for sharing your perks."

"Anytime." Shiro patted him on the back.

Keith smiled at him, but it wasn't going to be anytime. Not anymore. Shiro was leaving. Keith was proud of him, but he was carrying with him so many other feelings that weren't pride. He was ashamed of that. He had to do better.

He'd always known he was different, but the practical fact that his difference meant he'd never have a match—a starmate or soulmate or whatever term people used—hadn't been what had bothered him, in the past. He'd mostly hated how alienated he'd felt and how often people talked about their constellations or asked him about his. Now he hated knowing that, no matter what happened, Shiro was going to be with someone else.

"Don't let whatever it is get you down,"said Shiro. He didn't pry or try to force Keith into a cheerfulness he would have been unlikely to reach when prodded. "It's not worth it when we've got better things to do."

"Right. We're too busy for that."

Shiro was in the minority. He was one of those people who considered his star sign a private matter. Keith knew him well, but he had no idea where on Shiro's body his star sign was located, or whether it had been mapped. All human constellations matched real groups of stars in the sky, as seen from Earth. For some people, the particular stars they were born with could be identified before they had found their match. Others had to wait until they'd met their other half before they gathered enough stars to determine where in the sky their match was recorded.

People who formed less obvious constellations could pay to find their stars in a database, so they'd know where in the sky to look for them, even if they weren't visible to the human eye. It wasn't until relatively recently that humans had developed the technology to pinpoint many of the constellations that were farther out. Some were so distant, they still hadn't been discovered, but the theory was that no one was marked with a constellation that didn't exist. 

Even if someone wasn't marked with any constellation at all.

Shiro wouldn't have bothered with some useless service like that, or with one of those companies who tried to calculate what stars your match would have, to predict the constellation you'd end up with. Shiro had good sense, and he was tactful. He didn't go around asking about personal star signs, like other people. He'd never asked about Keith's.

Wherever Shiro's stars were, it wasn't an obvious place, like his hands or his face. When Keith had seen him in shorter-sleeved shirts or in shorts, he hadn't noticed any stars then, either. He had been trying not to peer too closely at Shiro's limbs—both because he didn't want to be rude and because it made him feel very awkward—but he would have noticed them if they'd been evident on Shiro's wrist or forearm.

Someday, Shiro would meet someone whose star-sign matched his own, and they would light up together. Keith had seen couples with their stars lit as they stood together, glowing faintly. It was a familiar sight to everyone. They said you could feel it in your marks when it started: a tingling feeling like a limb that had fallen asleep, starting to wake up.

Shiro would experience that feeling someday, with someone who wasn't Keith. Because life was far from being perfect, not everyone met their star-match: there were accidents or illnesses, or bad luck could intervene—but it was supposed to be more likely than not that the people who were meant to come together would. Fate. Apparently. It would probably be great for Shiro. He'd be happy, and Keith wanted to be happy for him. He was preparing himself for that day. If he practiced enough, he could train himself not to mind, visualizing Shiro smiling at someone else and trying to think good thoughts. 

Shiro was smiling now, but at Keith himself. "Matt's coming along, too. I said I was going to meet up with him around here—" Shiro scanned the hallway, but there was no Matt yet. "He wants to go to that seafood restaurant he likes."

"Sure. I don't mind." The people who were leaving Planet Earth should get their pick of what to eat. Keith saw the fairness in that, and he wasn't too picky about food, anyway.

"You have to promise to be nice if Matt makes that 'If I see food—I eat it' joke again."

"I'm always nice." 

"Okay... Yeah. I'm not going to argue with that. Then, how about extra nice?"

"Fine. I promise. But I won't like it." Keith could joke with Shiro, too, when he was in the mood. It had been known to happen.

Shiro shook his head. "That's big of you."

"I won't have to hear it again for a while, anyway." Keith had been trying to continue the joking—which admittedly wasn't one of his strengths—when his own joke stung him.

Shiro went along with it. "Yeah—lucky you. You'll be free from all our bad jokes for a long time."

"Lucky me." Keith did complain about dumb jokes, but he didn't mind them when they were Shiro's. Even Matt's were tolerable. He liked having people to joke with. There'd been times when no one had told him any jokes worth mentioning. He felt a tightness, like a knot, form in his throat, and he had to swallow. That was a recurring phenomenon he'd been dealing with a lot lately.

"Are you—and Matt doing anything later? After we eat?" Keith asked. He hoped his voice sounded casual. He didn't sound worried, did he?

"Matt's family's coming in to see him, so I assume he'll be spending his time with them this evening."

"Right. I bet. So we can—hang out some more?"

"Sure we can," said Shiro easily, "if you don't mind dealing with a lot of people who want to say goodbye to me. Or who don't want to say goodbye and are going to be loud about it."

"I can deal with it." He'd dealt with worse. As they walked through the halls of the garrison side by side, he felt like he was seeing this building for the first time, all the details standing out to him: the dull walls and the scuffed shine on the floors. Were they beige or gray or more of a gray-beige? It was as if Keith was the one who was going to be leaving soon, and not Shiro. It all felt both too clear and too temporary, like the school hallways in a dream. This was one of the last times he'd walk this way with Shiro for a while. This place would look different without him, wouldn't it?

"They'll probably say a lot of clichés you won't like," Shiro warned.

"I'll tune them out." Shiro was teasing him again, but he wasn't going to give in and laugh about it now. He had his pride.

"As long as you promise you won't tell too many of them off, I'll consider letting you tag along."

"I'm not that bad, Shiro." It was a joke. Keith knew it was a joke, but he frowned.

"No, I know you're not. Am I joking too much again?" Shiro's teasing tone grew more gentle. "Don't tell anyone I told you this, but sometimes I enjoy it when you tell people off."

Keith felt placated. "I'll have to do it more often, then."

"Don't go that far on my account."

Keith fell silent, as if he was considering the delicate balance between telling too many people off and _not enough_ people. "Then I'll only tell off people I'd have told off anyway," he decided at last.

"Thanks," said Shiro, "That's a good middle ground."

"Hey, Shiro—" Keith said suddenly, coming to a halt so quickly that another cadet almost collided with his back and only narrowly managed to jump out of the way.

"What is it, Keith?" Shiro stopped too, turning back to look at him. 

The cadet who had avoided Keith then bumped into Shiro instead. "Oh, hey, sorry," he said, and Keith glanced at him. He was broad-shouldered, but not as tall as Shiro. His loose, dark hair was tied back with an orange headband that probably wasn't strictly regulation, though it did match the uniform. "Oh! I didn't realize we were stopping here," he said, in a tone that was mild enough not to rub Keith the wrong way. "Or I'd have stopped, too."

Keith shrugged. "Don't worry about it, big man."

"I'm sorry," said Shiro, more politely, taking the blame which wasn't his. "I didn't see you there."

"Okay—I'll just move along, then, thank you!" With a wave that turned into a half-salute, he did.

It was only then that Shiro's full attention returned to Keith. "You were about to say something?"

Keith wasn't one hundred percent sure of what he'd been about to say, but he was one hundred percent sure that it wasn't anything he wanted to say to Shiro in a public hallway. "It's nothing. Let's go." Shiro didn't argue with him. He started moving forward again, and Keith followed him. There were times when Keith felt like he'd always be following Shiro, but he didn't mind, because that was where he wanted to be. 

He also wanted to be alone with him, but he'd have to wait until later for that. They already had company. "There you are. Look, if it isn't the gruesome twosome—I mean, the rare pair. Double trouble?" Matt Holt was hurrying to catch up with them. Once he did, he rested a finger against his cheek and made his "professor face", which was either a fond tribute to his father, or an unconscious reflection of him.

"Are you writing a poem?" asked Keith, who couldn't quite make out the point of what he was saying. He had been distracted by Shiro, and Matt was forcing him to shift gears quickly. He could easily make that kind of rapid course adjustment while piloting a vehicle, but not so easily where thinking about Shiro was concerned.

"What? No, I was thinking of a rhyming tagline for you guys," said Matt, as if that made sense.

"Oh," said Keith.

"I need to workshop it," Matt added.

"Yes, you do," Shiro agreed, shaking his head. "Is there a reason we're getting a tagline?"

"I feel like you could benefit from a collective noun," said Matt, thoughtfully tugging on his collar. "Keith and Shiro ... Keiro?" He shook his head. "No, no..."

"I never realized I needed a collective noun," Shiro said, as if he were taking the matter seriously. "I'm glad you're working on that."

"It's just that you're always together," said Matt, shrugging. "So it'll save me some time if I can refer to you jointly."

Keith scowled, but since he'd promised to be especially nice, it was a relatively mild scowl, and he didn't follow it up with any words.

Before they could get much further, another voice rang out, bringing them all automatically to a halt. "Shirogane!" Commander Iverson marched briskly toward them, the nearby students just as briskly getting out of his way. "I need to talk with you now." There were two other officers with him. They were stern enough that they looked like they were about to arrest Shiro, although that couldn't be further from the case. Shiro was their favorite. That was why they'd chosen him.

"Yes, sir," said Shiro, snapping to attention.

Iverson glanced at Keith and Matt, obviously taking in their presence, but without acknowledging them directly. "It shouldn't take long. I know you're headed off base for R &R, but we have a few more things to discuss with you about the mission."

"Of course, sir." Shiro flashed Keith and Matt a quick, apologetic grin. "I'll be right back, guys."

"Don't worry about it, Captain Important. We'll wait for you outside, sir," said Matt, gesturing in the direction they'd be heading. Iverson and the other officers had understandably been spending a lot of time with Shiro, briefing and then re-briefing him. It wasn't unexpected for them to suddenly pull him away. The Kerberos Mission was one of the most important scientific endeavors in recent history. None of the garrison officers were taking it lightly. Keith glanced over his shoulder to watch Shiro walk away. Keith couldn't see his face, but he was familiar enough with the nature and causes of Shiro's serious business expression. He didn't need to see it to know when it was there.

"Do you know what they're going to talk to him about?" Keith asked, as they walked on.

"No, it's secret pilot stuff. They don't tell that to the likes of me. Maybe Shiro will let us in on it later. If it's not classified."

"Maybe," said Keith.

"Hey," said Matt, lowering his voice and leaning in so suddenly that Keith blinked, "speaking of which, did he tell you about— _the thing?_ "

_The thing_ was a vague enough term that it took Keith a second to catch on to what he meant. Matt had decided to be serious, so he had to be talking about an important issue. Other than the looming mission, there weren't too many _things_ that qualified as news where Shiro was concerned. "You mean, Chris?"

"Yeah, I thought he would have told you. I only found out because I happened to talk to Chris about it."

"Right," said Keith. It was awkward to discuss this part of Shiro's private life with Matt. It had been strange enough to talk to Shiro about it. "He did tell me."

"I know he's being all noble and nice about about it, but he must be pretty upset."

"He must," Keith agreed.

Matt tilted his head and pursed his lips, appealing to Keith with a concern that was disarmingly earnest. "What do you think I should do?"

That wasn't what Keith had expected. Not that he'd had any specific expectations about what Matt was going to say. He hadn't thought Matt was going to bring up Shiro's breakup at all, but if he'd had to guess beforehand what he would say about it, he wouldn't have predicted that Matt was going to ask him for his advice. "What do I—?"

"Yeah. You know him better than anyone else here. Should I try to bring it up with him?"

He was being appealed to as an expert. On Shiro. This was a job that he took very seriously. He and Matt had made it outside, and Keith narrowed his eyes—both because of the sun's glare and because he was concentrating. When he'd talked to Shiro about Chris before, Shiro had been calm and contained. Reasonable. He knew Shiro wanted to seem strong and in control, especially now, when he had to take on the role of leader. Shiro would want to put his work before his emotions, to focus on concrete tasks. "Uh, probably not," Keith decided. "Unless it comes up. I don't think he wants to talk about it yet. Not with the mission and everything. But maybe once he's had some time he will—you'll be together up there for a while. He'll probably talk to you about it eventually. When he's ready."

"And when we run out of other things to talk about while sealed in a speeding air can in the middle of space."

"Yeah. When that happens." Keith gave Matt a small smile. Keith wasn't glad that Shiro felt bad. No, it was the opposite: he'd have done anything or given anything to make him feel better. What did make Keith feel good was being considered the person who knew Shiro best, who spent the most time with him.

"Thanks, Keith," said Matt.

Keith felt like he should thank Matt, instead. At times, he'd worried that he was tagging along like a sidekick, or even lagging behind when he tried to keep up with Shiro, but he wasn't following Shiro as his subordinate. He was his companion, and that was completely different. It helped him to feel less different. Now he was standing with Matt in the sun, waiting for Shiro to catch up.


	3. Antares, Variable Giant

"So. Looks like we ended up here again." Shiro's tone was resigned, but the warmth beneath the resignation made it clear that whatever he was feeling wasn't unpleasant.

"Looks like it," Keith agreed, with a nod.

"How does this keep happening to us?" asked Shiro.

Keith shrugged. The truth was that there was a limited number of places to go on base to be alone, and few of those places had fresh air and scenic views, but he didn't offer that as an answer. He didn't need to answer every question when he was with Shiro. Letting Shiro talk and listening to him do it was an enjoyable enough way for him to spend his time.

"Maybe it's the stars," Shiro said. 

They had made their way up to the roof again. Seated side by side, gazing up, they were as close to the stars as they could get out here, without actually going up in a ship. It would have been nice to take a flight together, but Shiro wouldn't have been likely to obtain clearance for a joyride, no matter how many pre-mission perks he was enjoying. 

Maybe Shiro was right, and it was the stars that had drawn them here. The sun had already set, but there was no shortage of lights across the sky above them. While the Galaxy Garrison itself gave off some light pollution, its location made it a perfect research facility for astronomers. The sky was wide open and glittering. You could see so many more stars here than in any city or town. As bright and numerous as they were, they seemed closer. There was nothing between Keith, Shiro, and the sky.

"I can't say I mind," Shiro added. "When I was a kid, I used to stargaze for hours."

Keith didn't feel excluded by this line of conversation, since Shiro was referring to literal stars, not the ones on people's skin. Stars in the sky made a lot more sense to Keith. He didn't want his view of them tainted by the big deal people made about skin markings down here on Earth. Stars were distant and bright. They were plasma and gravity. Out among them, the Earth and its inhabitants didn't matter so much.

"I'd look and look until I picked out one to go to. Then I'd try to remember where it was, so that someday, when I had a rocket ship, I could go to visit it." Shiro laughed.

Keith had felt that way, too. He had wanted to leave this planet for a long time, because there hadn't been much to tie him to it. Maybe it was odd to feel that way about the planet where you'd been born and where you were supposed to belong, but getting to somewhere else had been his dream.

"Someday," said Shiro, "it's going to be me keeping you company in the days before you head up."

"Or maybe we'll go up together," said Keith. That was a better idea.

"I like the way you think," Shiro's voice was still warm, and Keith didn't worry about the cold up here, even as the breeze picked up and played with his hair.

Keith dreamed of flying away, but it would be ideal to do that at Shiro's side, both of them focused on the same goal, out among the stars. Keith had struggled toward his goal for as long as he could remember, but now he had a greater reason to fight for it. It wouldn't be easy to reach Shiro's level, to arrive at a place where he could stand beside him. Shiro excelled at everything he did, including connecting to other people. That was a skill Keith assumed he'd always lack. Shiro was among the stars already. Keith had a long way to go before he could join him there.

"You'd be great to have along on a mission," said Shiro.

_I wish I could go with you this time_. Keith allowed himself this thought, but he couldn't manage to say it. "Then it's a promise," he said, instead. "We'll do it."

"I do want to, but you know we won't have a say over where we're assigned—"

He was being too reasonable again. "A promise," Keith repeated, firmly.

"I give in," said Shiro, without much real protest. "A promise. I'll do what I can to make it happen, when the time comes."

Keith smiled in satisfaction. The thought of having a future together with Shiro reassured him. He didn't want to contemplate living without him.

At lunch, Matt had been his usual talkative self, and he had, as Shiro had predicted, made the seafood joke. Of course he had. He'd followed that up with a string of fish puns involving school and scales and the halibut. Once he'd gotten on a roll, Keith hadn't managed to catch all of them, but he'd remained as tolerant as he'd promised he'd be. When Keith had let an especially terrible joke pass, Matt had raised his eyebrows at Keith and said, "You're in a good mood."

No mention had been made of Chris, as if he'd been removed from Shiro's life. Keith was sure Shiro had to be thinking about him, as he smiled and joked as if nothing had happened—or was about to happen. Judging by his conversation alone, no one could have guessed that in such a short time, he'd be leaving on a mission that would take him farther from Earth than anyone had ever been. His tone was casual, his posture relaxed. He managed a few puns of his own, even if he couldn't begin to keep up with Matt.

Was it possible that Keith, who wasn't going anywhere, was more distressed than Shiro was? 

He had been dreaming about the mission recently. Like all his dreams, they had been fractured and mostly forgotten when he woke, but he had held on to a few images: Pluto and its moons, shining dimly in the dark, so far from the sun. The double-lobed mass of Kerberos loomed, somehow dwarfing its planet in Keith's mind, inexplicably sharp and silver and piercingly cold. He saw Shiro standing on its surface, iced over until he was silver too. Pluto was the god of the underworld, and although Keith didn't consider himself superstitious, the symbolism felt too significant, too ominous.

_No, he'll be fine!_ He was imagining things. There was no reason the mission wouldn't be a success. Shiro would be there. He would make it a success. Keith had to have faith in him and stop worrying. It was unfair of him to focus too much on his own feelings. Unfortunately, those feelings weren't as easy to fight off as he would have liked.

"Who knows," said Shiro, interrupting his thoughts, "Maybe you and I will be the first people to leave the solar system."

"I'd like that," said Keith. Nothing could have made him happier than going far, far away while remaining at Shiro's side. Shiro must have had an instinctive sense of what needed to be said to make Keith feel better. That was one of the many traits Keith appreciated in him.

"If anyone can make history, it's you," Shiro said.

"I should be saying that about you," Keith protested. "You're already making history!"

"If I'm doing it first, it's only because I'm older. An accident of birth."

Keith fell silent again. Shiro _was_ older. It was a mathematical fact. Life would have easier if they'd been born in the same year. There wouldn't be so much of a gap in their ages that Shiro would be leaving him behind. Shiro didn't treat him in any markedly different way because he was younger, but the discrepancy could still annoy him, when he was reminded of it. It wasn't Shiro's fault. It was no one's fault. As Shiro had said, it was an accident of birth. Like the fact that he'd been born without a set of stars. He couldn't do anything about it. Unlike the missing stars, though, their ages wouldn't matter much in the future. But they mattered now.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" Shiro asked.

Keith blinked, for a split second wondering if Shiro had managed to read his thoughts on his face, as he sometimes managed to do. "What do you mean?

"You look like you've got something on your mind. Not that you don't usually look that way. But it's a little more severe than usual right now. And you've had that same look on your face all day."

"It's nothing. Or not nothing. Just—you leaving and everything." He rushed this brief admission, and it was both more than what he wanted to say and not enough.

After eating, they'd spent some time in town—not doing anything in particular—before parting ways with Matt, who had been eager to spend time with his family before his departure. Shiro had shown Keith around the launch site as the afternoon had faded, the shadows lengthening into evening. Keith had been happy, as Shiro had walked him through the planned takeoff procedure. He'd felt like he was part of it all, like he wasn't being left behind. Although he was.

Shiro's hand settled on his shoulder. "You can tell me about it. You don't have to worry that I'm going to judge you for it. It's all right to be upset. You don't just have to be happy for me."

No, he didn't have to, but it would be better if that was all he felt. "But I am happy for you."

"You think I don't know that? Of course I do. Keith, we know each other so well by now. I don't think there's anything we can't tell each other at this point. You can always feel like you can be open with me. Besides," he laughed, removing his hand from Keith's shoulder to push back his own hair, that long piece that was always falling in his face, "whatever it is, if you don't get it out soon, you're going to have to keep it bottled up for a while."

He did feel bottled up. It was like he was being pressed on all sides, including from the inside. Something had to give. What put the most pressure on him was the pain of not being open with Shiro. That was what he was supposed to be. Part of him wanted to tell Shiro everything, immediately, but he shook his head stubbornly, sending his hair into his eyes. He reached up to flick it away. "I don't want you to leave. That's all." He felt bad enough saying this, his stomach lurching unpleasantly. What was he doing? This wasn't a good idea, no matter what Shiro said about it. Shiro didn't _know_ everything—which made Keith feel guilty. What he should do, for everyone's good, was keep his mouth shut tight and not bother Shiro with his emotions. He had to be strict with himself. Keep himself in check.

"It's not that I don't understand, Keith. There's a part of me that doesn't want to leave, you know. I'm going to miss Earth a lot. And not only the food. Also the people. Especially—"

Keith was so focused on telling himself what he shouldn't do—should definitely never, under any circumstances, do—that the thing he wasn't supposed to do grew larger in his mind, like the moon Kerberos in his dream. It filled his vision, and the pressure pressed down on him, and out on him, until something inside him broke. He came to attention, sitting up straighter. All at once, and without a moment's prior planning, he decisively made up his mind to do the one thing he'd been so careful and strict about avoiding. "I love you," said Keith, throwing the words right into Shiro's sentence and cutting through it.

Shiro didn't try to start up his sentence again, but he couldn't manage to formulate a new one, instead asking quietly and almost bewilderedly, "What—?"

"I love you," Keith said again. He felt horror and relief and horribly relieved. It was as if he'd lost control of his mouth. His tongue was shaping sounds on its own, and his lips were forming words against his will. "I'm in love with you. And I shouldn't say anything, because I know it doesn't matter, but I did it anyway, and now I can't take it back." He stared upward, raising his head and stubbornly fixing his gaze on the stars. He didn't want to look at Shiro right now, afraid of what expression he might see in his eyes. Something like embarrassment or guilt or pity. He couldn't bear any of those.

"Keith, I—" Shiro broke off. The right words to say must have deserted him for once.

Now it was Keith who had things to say. "I'm being selfish, because you're leaving, and you've got more important things to think about, but I can't keep it from you anymore. So—now you know." He'd been able to hold off and keep silent while Shiro had had a boyfriend, but the end of his relationship, combined with his nearing departure date, had proved too much for Keith's resolve. His breathing sounded too rough in his ears and heavy on his chest. If he wasn't careful, he was going to make himself sick, but he had already failed to be careful, in absolutely every way.

"I didn't have any idea you felt that way," said Shiro slowly, after what seemed like an hour had passed.

"Yeah, I know."

"You never said anything—"

"I know."

"But—," Shiro was struggling to find his footing again. Keith wasn't used to Shiro's uncertainty, and it was odd to hear him hesitate so much. "I'm glad you told me. Even if the timing is—well—" Keith still felt too anxious to look at him, but he dared a glance at him regardless. Shiro sighed, but his expression didn't show distress or pity. It was _concerned_. Keith didn't know how he felt about that, but it could have been worse. "Wow. I am really finding it hard to say anything to you right now." Shiro took a long breath and laughed, softly. It was strange for Keith to see him look as unsettled as Keith felt. "You know that I care about you, Keith."

Now that he'd started, Keith couldn't stop himself from blurting out more words. "I know," said Keith, "but not like that, right? Because we're not a match, so it doesn't matter. How people feel doesn't matter."

"I—no, I wasn't going to say that. Keith, that's not it," Shiro hastened to explain. "I don't think there's anything wrong or lesser about your feelings. I told you, I believe all relationships are important. Just because two people's stars don't match up, that doesn't mean they can't care very deeply for each other."

"Yeah, that's what you say, but—"

"No, listen to me." Shiro leaned in toward him. "We don't know as much about the stars as everyone thinks we do. There are as many mysteries here on Earth as there are up there." Shiro gestured toward the sky. "Do you understand what I mean?"

"I think so," said Keith, before adding, "Not completely."

Shiro paused, choosing his words. "I'm afraid of saying the wrong thing. I'm not taking your feelings lightly. I want to give them the response they deserve. I know how important this is."

"Just say what you mean. All I care about is the truth."

"That's not always so easy. Or straightforward."

"It's easier than some people think it is." Not that he meant Shiro was like that, but so many people were afraid of the truth, because they thought it was hard. It could be hard, but that wasn't enough reason to be afraid of it.

"Keith. As I said, I care about you. The problem is that this is very sudden. I don't have time to think about it before I leave."

"Why do you have to _think_?"

"Because. I have to. I'm not going to rush into anything. That wouldn't be fair to you. To start something when I'm about to leave."

"But what do you _want_?"

"I can't say that. Not now. I'm going to be gone for a long time. A lot of things might change before I get back."

"I won't change."

"You—I believe that, yes. Who knows, maybe you're ahead of me. But be a little patient and let me catch up."

Keith softened immediately at the realization that he might be hurting Shiro's feelings. "Yeah, I—I didn't mean that you were doing anything wrong."

"I know you didn't."

"You can take your time. I'll wait as long as you need me to."

Shiro shook his head. "I can't get over you sometimes," he said. 

"What do you mean?" It didn't sound like an insult or a joke, but he wasn't sure if Shiro was being entirely flattering.

"That was really brave. I don't know if I'd have had the guts to do that."

Had it been brave? He hadn't felt brave. "I couldn't help it. That was all."

"Yes, because you're brave."

"Or stupid."

"Obviously, I prefer to be more charitable towards you than you do."

"You would."

To Keith's surprise, Shiro reached out to him. He slid an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. Keith tensed, then relaxed into the contact. He wouldn't have described himself as a "hugger", but there wasn't anything strange about the touch. It was just affectionate, and it felt natural. "I'm glad you told me," Shiro said.

"Are you? Why?"

"Because I'm honored to be someone you can confide in. And I'm lucky, to be someone you'd feel that way about. So, thanks."

Keith had managed to make himself feel both better and worse than he had before, but at least the truth was out, and at least Shiro wasn't trying to keep his distance and be careful with him. He wouldn't have known how to deal with him pulling away. He closed his eyes. The air felt cool against his heated cheeks, but Shiro was pleasantly warm. He turned his head so his ear pressed against Shiro's chest.

"What are you doing?" Shiro asked.

"I'm listening to your heart beat."

"How does it sound?"

"Good." He also liked the way Shiro's voice sounded, resonating in his chest.

"Let me know if you hear anything strange. I just got a very thorough physical, but you can't be too careful."

"No, your heart's really strong." It was. The rhythm was steady and even and firm.

"I'll consider that an expert opinion, then."

"It is," said Keith. Even though it would be possible to interpret Shiro's response to him as an attempt at a gentle refusal, Keith decided to take what he'd said at face value. If Shiro wanted to wait, then Keith would wait. It was that simple. He would wait years for him, if he had to.

"Shiro?" he asked slowly, drawing his head back from Shiro's chest. He didn't want to talk too much and risk ending this moment of connection. One of the reasons he disliked conversation was that putting things into words confused everything. Words were never exact, and they often went wrong, but there was something he wanted to ask.

"What is it?"

"You said all relationships are important, but you think about your star sign, don't you? And who has the other half?"

"I do. I think everyone thinks about that, at some point."

"What if you didn't have one? A star sign, I mean."

"Do you mean what if everyone's disappeared? Or if I was the only one who didn't have one?"

"If it was just you."

Shiro's first response was silence, and Keith resisted the urge to turn his head and listen to Shiro's heart again. He could have done that for a while, if he was allowed.

"If that were the case, I'd be lonely," said Shiro. "I'd feel left out." Keith didn't interrupt him. He listened quietly, eager to hear what Shiro would say. "But I wouldn't be the only one. There are always people who lose their match or never find them, for whatever reason. Or else they lost their stars, or—anything could happen. It's odd, but even if there is some kind of fate, we don't know what the rules actually are. It is a little like we're floating out in space, and we're small and new and just finding things out. So—to answer your question, I could see it being difficult, but it would be exciting, too."

Had Shiro guessed his secret? He might have, but Keith wasn't ready to push himself to ask him, not after the revelations he'd already endured tonight. He felt tired, as if he'd been sparring and running laps all day. Emotional effort could be as draining as physical effort. 

It wouldn't have mattered if he'd had stars and a match waiting for him somewhere; Keith wouldn't have wanted to be with that other person. He'd have have chosen Shiro instead. The other person would have had to deal with it.

"Are you all right?" Shiro asked. "I hope you feel better now and not worse."

"I think I feel better." For all that he wasn't exactly doing great, this was another moment he wished he could preserve indefinitely. He raised his head to take in the sky scattered with stars. They looked like he felt: both bright and dark, but it was hard to tell which was painful and which was a comfort. Was the brightness harsh and the darkness inviting? Or was the dark cold and the brightness warming? Maybe all those things were true. His heart was beating faster than Shiro's, and it was full of more feelings than he could completely sort out.

He tried to memorize the pattern of the stars he saw above him, all the constellations and their positions relative to the horizon. He wanted to keep them in mind, exactly like this, as if it was in these real stars, and no others, that he could read the story of himself and Shiro.

Like those services that charted your constellations, there were companies you could pay to make a picture of the stars at any particular time and place. People were always trying to make money off of big, important things, but the things that mattered couldn't be bought. Keith didn't need to hire any services. He'd keep this sky all to himself.


	4. Alphard, the Solitary One

After the launch, Keith would look up at the stars every night. He had no scientific way of knowing what direction to turn toward to face Shiro at any one particular moment. He'd have needed complicated equations to figure that out, and he didn't have time for that. He relied on instinct. He turned in the direction he thought was right, and he stood for a long time, staring, as if he could trace the course of Shiro's ship with his gaze.

He couldn't, but he tried.

He'd imagine what Shiro might be doing. In the ship, their lives would be repetitive, with little variation from day to day—not even real day and night to divide up the time for them. To help prevent mental fatigue and stress, they'd been given books, games, films, and courses in various subjects. Shiro would be able to keep his mind busy no matter what; he wasn't the kind of person who was often bored.

Although it was silly, Keith would imagine that at the same moment he was looking up, Shiro was looking back toward Earth, thinking of him. That was a nice thought. Shiro had to be thinking of him part of the time, right? So by chance, at some point, it was possible they were looking toward each other, thinking of each other. He liked that idea.

Keith had little time for social media. Unlike most people he knew, he had a long-standing habit of leaving his phone off or leaving it behind altogether. Since the outset of the Kerberos mission, he'd changed that habit. He didn't connect with any friends, or post any personal information, but he made sure he was connected to every possible Kerberos-related account. If there was any update posted, anywhere, he wasn't going to miss it.

Since Keith had so few contacts, when his phone started to gently but insistently ping one afternoon, he slipped it immediately out of his pocket. Any notice he received was likely to be about the mission. When he checked his messages, the world stopped. Keith was no longer moving. He was barely breathing.

The first reports were conflicting, more questions than announcements. Communications with the mission had been completely cut off, without warning. Equipment malfunction was the expected explanation, at first. Mission control was hoping to reconnect with the pilot shortly. The last transmission from the ship had been post-landing on Kerberos. The crew had disembarked and reported that they were commencing collection of samples. All equipment had been functioning properly: life signs monitored, ship's engines in optimal condition, fuel and supplies at expected levels. There had been no significant problems with the communications system for the duration of the voyage. Keith had been keeping track of everything, or as much of it as he could access. There was no evident reason for the sudden silence.

Yet they had gone silent.

Whatever had happened was well in the past by the time mission control realized there was a problem. There was an understandable delay of any transmission sent from so far out. If the communication failure was a glitch, it was a bad one, because the minutes passed, and contact was not resumed. Minutes and then hours of nothing.

Keith checked everything obsessively as media outlets started to pick up the story. He noticed one odd discrepancy. On one of the garrison research site feeds, there was an early mention of an unusual reading, shortly before communications were cut off: atmospheric disturbance and seismic activity. What did that mean? It must have been a reading that couldn't have been attributed to expected normal conditions on Kerberos, or it wouldn't have been logged like that.

There were no further details on that particular reading, and later that day, the report was retracted, with the excuse that in the initial confusion, some details of the transmissions had been interpreted incorrectly. There were no unusual environmental readings after all. Keith understood that mistakes like that were easy to make in the rush of real-time reporting, but when he went back to find the mention of it later, it had been deleted altogether.

Erased. Like the Kerberos Mission.

Three days passed before the authorities came together to decide on the story they were going to tell to explain the disappearance.

_Pilot error._

The first time Keith read those words, he almost threw his phone against the wall. He slammed it down on his desk instead. That wasn't possible. It just wasn't. There was no place in his world for that explanation, so he instinctively and immediately dismissed it.

This complete denial placed him in a reality where that story wasn't true. Unfortunately, that was a different reality from the one everyone else was living in. That was the root cause of his problem with everyone else. It wasn't _his_ fault, it was _theirs_. If they hadn't been so completely wrong, and so completely unwilling to listen, he might have been able to forgive them. Simple as that. _Pilot error._ They were the ones in error.

The garrison planned a tribute for the lost members of the Kerberos Mission. It was held in the assembly hall, a large room where press conferences and special events were held, large enough to contain not only all the students but faculty, staff, and visitors. Not _that_ many visitors, so there was going to be a live feed, and camera crews were coming to film it. It was big news, so everyone wanted their piece of it, for ratings or whatever it was that would benefit them.

Keith didn't care about ratings. He thought about boycotting the tribute, as a protest, but he hadn't been able to convince anyone to boycott it with him. People said he was being disrespectful, irrational. He hadn't had many friends before, but he quickly found himself with less. He didn't care. He didn't need them as friends, if they couldn't believe in Shiro. They didn't seem to understand how much it meant, to have faith in him. 

Instead of boycotting, he came up with another plan. He was able to get himself a seat near the front—as Shiro's friend and the "top cadet", whatever that meant. He sat waiting until they started, his teeth gritted and his whole body tensed. The officers stood on the stage in full dress, as sober as if they were going to a funeral. There was a large screen set up behind them. When the tribute was about to start, the entire screen filled with a high resolution of Shiro, in his uniform, gazing straight ahead at the crowd.

At the sight, Keith could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and he could feel his heart in his chest. It hurt. He wanted to move at once, but he made himself wait. Another few minutes. He let them start talking. He heard their voices, but he couldn't understand what they were saying, not over the sound of his heartbeat. It was a strong beat, like Shiro's had been, but again, it was faster. He didn't want to hear what they were saying, anyway. Whenever they talked about Shiro's "error", they were patronizing to an extent that maddened Keith. Saying what a good person he had been, but even good people could make mistakes. They wanted to be seen as passionate and forgiving, but they were the ones who needed forgiveness.

Keith chose his moment without thinking. Once he was sure the cameras were all rolling and the feed was feeding, and everyone's attention was on the speaker—he launched himself forward. It was easy for him to leap directly up onto the stage and land on his feet. No one had been expecting that. The security officers were placed at the sides of the stage, where there were stairs, and in the wings. Not that there was that much security, as they hadn't expected any trouble. When he reached the podium, they were already rushing toward him, but Keith had time to push the speaker out of the way and bring his lips to the microphone. "It's a lie," he said, and the microphone screeched in protest. Keith managed to lower his voice. "It wasn't his fault. Shiro was—" Keith felt arms slide around his waist.

Keith knew he could take them, in a fight. He had to remind himself not to strike them. He couldn't hurt anyone, if he wanted his message to be heard. "He didn't make a mistake! They're lying!" he was able to shout, but with each moment, he was carried further from the microphone, as security converged on him.

They kept a hold of him as they dragged him outside. They were still holding him when Iverson came up to him and yelled in his face. "Kogane, that was unacceptable! You are out of line!"

" _You're_ out of line!" Keith shot back.

"You're going to be disciplined for this. I should have you kicked off base immediately!"

"Why don't you, then?"

Iverson, clenching his teeth, leaning in toward Keith, looked like he was about to do just that, but then he seemed to think better of it and straightened. "You're too emotional right now. I'm having you taken back to your quarters. But don't think I'll forget about this. Until further notice!"

Keith let them take him away, without a fight. He knew that, the moment he hurt someone, he would be taken off base immediately. He hoped that his words had been broadcast, at least. If only someone would pay attention. "I'm only telling the truth," said Keith, as he was escorted back to his room. The security officer who had been assigned to the task didn't bother arguing with him. She opened his door and made sure he went through it.

"If I leave you here, are you going to stay here?" she asked.

"Yeah. Obviously, you people aren't going to listen." By _you people_ , Keith meant everyone. He'd never felt so alone. "I don't want to see your stupid tribute. It's all lies."

"If you're caught disrupting the event again, we will be taking disciplinary action immediately." She was looking at him as if she thought Iverson had been too soft on him. If so, that was probably the first time anyone had thought that about Iverson.

"I told you, I won't."

"If you were his friend," she said, "You'd think that you'd have more respect for him."

Keith had to remind himself again that Shiro wouldn't have wanted him to use violence. Shiro would never have punched a security guard, so instead of doing that, Keith kicked his chair across the room, sending it skidding into the wall.

"Control yourself, cadet!" the officer snapped, and Keith could tell from the way she looked him over that she was going to report on his further "violent behavior" or "lack of control". Fine. He'd rather have it on his record that he'd made an objection than be like everyone else and go along with the liars.

As soon as the officer left, for a few seconds, he entertained the idea of defying her order and going back, to show them that they couldn't tell him what to do. In another few seconds, he'd thought of a better way to utilize this time, when almost everyone was at the event, watching pictures of Shiro, Matt, and Doctor Holt.

The personnel property office was on the opposite side of the facility from the assembly hall. They hadn't taken Keith seriously enough to post a guard at his door, but they certainly had people watching the halls leading toward the hall now. Going in the other direction—that was easy. Keith was used to sneaking around the buildings: ascending to the roof or making his way outside when he was supposed to be obediently inside. Having a tendency to avoid other people had its uses.

As Keith was about to turn a corner, he heard footsteps in the corridor ahead. A guard? He pressed himself to the wall and glanced around the corner. What he saw there wasn't a guard at all, but a small figure dressed in dark colors. Was that—Matt's sister? He'd only seen her briefly before, but she looked enough like Matt that he recognized her. For an instant, he thought about assisting her, but he had something important to do. And so did she, apparently. He wondered if she thought the same way he did, or if she blamed Shiro for what had happened to her brother and father. He couldn't deal with that possibility right now. He couldn't trust her. No, he was sticking to his original plan. Keeping close to the wall, he waited for her to creep past. Whatever she was up to, he wished her luck.

The personnel property office was nearly empty. The garrison was down to a skeleton crew, so as many people as possible could have the opportunity to attend the tribute. Usually, an attendant was posted at a desk just past the door, to assist people with their storage lockers. Today, there was only one guard posted, in the guardroom by the entrance. Keith had a few ideas for how to get around him. In a worst case scenario, he could enter openly, since he did have permission to enter the office, if not to do what he was about to do. However, that would mean that someone would know he'd been there, and his presence there during the assembly would seem odd.

Fortunately, the guard had taken advantage of his lonely posting to watch a game on his computer. It might have annoyed Keith that someone on base was watching sports instead of a tribute to Shiro, but since the garrison's presentation was all lies, it didn't matter. He crouched down to slip past the guard's office. There was a broad window set in the guardroom wall, so whoever was stationed there could monitor the hallway, but there was enough space under it for Keith to sneak past easily.

Once he was inside, he worked quickly. His mission was relatively straightforward. He knew which locker was Shiro's, and he knew Shiro's combination. Inside the locker, there was a packed duffel bag, along with a few other personal items. Keith didn't bother to stand around cataloguing the items. He stuffed everything into the duffel bag and took it all. It was a little harder to sneak past the guard again carrying a large, black bag, but he managed it. The guard's team must have been doing well, because Keith heard him cheer as he went past.

It wasn't until he was safely back in his room that he opened the bag. His hands were shaking. Not because he'd been afraid of getting caught, but because these were Shiro's possessions. Rummaging through them, he pulled out Shiro's shirt and held it up to his face. He breathed in deeply. It had been laundered, but he could still detect Shiro's scent, he thought. Keith's face felt hot, and he knew from the sharp sting he felt in his eyes that he was crying. As he'd hoped, they hadn't figured out what to do with Shiro's personal effects yet. They probably would have given them to Shiro's family, in time, but Keith would take care of them for Shiro. Whether he came back for them or not.

As dedicated as Keith was to letting the truth be known, there was a truth he found difficult to face: even if the authorities were lying and scapegoating Shiro—and they obviously were—it was likely that Shiro was dead, along with Matt and Doctor Holt. What if Shiro was never coming back?

Keith let himself wonder if that was why he didn't have stars—because Shiro was never going to survive. Yet that didn't make sense, because there were people with stars who died before they met their match, so there had to be another reason for the lack. Maybe he'd never know what it was. He did consider what it must have been like, to have a set of stars, and then—they never lit up. But you never stopped hoping, because you might not meet your match until you were older. It must have been hard. He'd never thought to sympathize with people like that before. It was true, what Shiro had said: the situation was more complicated than mere fate.

Even those who were marked with stars and had found their match had no way of knowing if their partner died while they were apart. Their stars would go dark whenever they weren't near each other, for whatever reason. If one of them died, those stars would never light up again. That was all: the absence of light for the rest of their lives. Keith knew how that felt. 

He would have liked to believe that Shiro would be coming back, in the way that he believed it wasn't Shiro's error that had doomed the mission. Everything he knew about Shiro told him that Shiro couldn't have been to blame. At the same time, all common sense told him that, if there had been a catastrophic problem out there at the edge of the solar system, there would have been no way for the crew to survive on their own. By all logic, he shouldn't have any hope left that he'd see Shiro again. He should accept that he was gone. He should deal with it. 

He was still hoping, nonetheless, for reasons he couldn't explain. Some of that was due to how much be cared for Shiro, but he also experienced a sense of presence, as if there was a force pulling at him, or else an object exerting some force on him. It was in the corner of his mind, like a faint buzzing. He could sense it in the darkness, in the quiet of the night, when everyone else on base had stopped talking, and he was alone with his thoughts. When he felt like he was the only person in the world, it was there, with him. Yet it remained elusive. Whenever he tried to focus on it and analyze it, it vanished.

There was something out there, something important. Did it have anything to do with Shiro? He wanted to believe that it did, but for him, everything had to do with Shiro these days. Keith couldn't have explained the odd feeling to another person, even if he'd been asked to do so. Not that he was talking to people now. He was done with people. He'd rather be alone than have to listen to them. Yes, they hadn't known Shiro as well as he had, but you only needed to know the facts of Shiro's career to understand how unlikely pilot error was. No one had ever received so many commendations at such a young age. Keith didn't have much use for commendations himself, but Shiro's record was flawless, and that was why they'd picked him for the mission. It wasn't that he couldn't make a mistake, but he wouldn't make a huge, mission-destroying mistake when there was nothing else wrong. He wouldn't have let Matt and Doctor Holt down.

After holding Shiro's shirt for a long time, Keith pushed it back into the duffel bag. He pushed the bag under his bed, then wiped the tears from his face. Once Shiro's things were discovered missing, he'd be the prime suspect, so he'd have to find a better hiding place for them soon. He had a lot to figure out.

There were only two people Keith could trust now: himself and Shiro—whether Shiro was alive or not. Everyone else was suspect. There had to be a reason for the people in charge of the Kerberos mission to make up a lie about Shiro: the pilot they'd so carefully hand-selected. The tribute passed without further incident, but Keith wasn't done speaking his mind. As the days passed, he kept doing so in class, in the hallways, and in the teachers' lounge.

Considering his behavior as a whole, in addition to specific incidents, Keith wasn't surprised when he was called in to Commander Iverson's office. Iverson wasn't seated. He was pacing instead, occasionally glancing at his seat as if he wished he could sit down. Keith stood by the door, glaring. Not only at Iverson, but at the walls, the floor, the windows, and the desk.

At last, Iverson heaved a sigh. "I've been as patient with you as I can, Kogane. I want you to think this over," he said. "Actually think, for once! I know Shirogane was your friend, but you have your future to think about! This can't keep happening. We're trying to run a base here, to give all our cadets an excellent education, and you're interfering with that."

"He's more than a friend," Keith spat, sticking to the present tense and leaving his statement open to interpretation.

"What do you—" Iverson began, then called off asking for clarification, shaking his head emphatically. "You're out of line, Kogane. If you weren't our best pilot cadet, I'd—"

"You'd what? Expel me?"

"Yes, expel you!" Iverson's face was weathered, and his scowl drew deep lines down his face. Scowling at him as intensely as he could manage, for the first time, Keith noticed a star on Iverson's skin: right above his collar, on his jawline. If there were more stars, they must have been further down, on his neck. Keith wondered if they'd ever lit up, and he felt a stab of bitterness. Even if Shiro had died—if only they had been a match. Then he'd have been marked with Shiro's constellation, forever connected to him. He had Shiro's possessions, but those were merely objects, and they could be taken away from him.

"I'm not your best student," said Keith.

Iverson shook his head. "You're the highest scoring cadet we have—"

Keith hadn't planned to say this, but suddenly he _was_ saying it, interrupting his superior without hesitation: "Because I'm not a student anymore. I'm done."

"You're quitting? I didn't take you for a quitter. I can't accept that."

"Accept it." Keith shrugged. 

"As I said, _think_ about what you're saying, for once! Use your brain, Kogane!"

"I've thought all I need to."

With another sigh, Iverson did finally sit down, heavily. His chair creaked beneath him. He ran a hand over his beard. He took off his hat and set it on the desk beside him. "Listen. You've got good instincts, Kogane, but you don't have good sense. We all took it hard when we lost Shirogane! You're not the only one who's had to deal with it. But we have to move on."

"You move on, if you want to! I just told you where I'm going. It's decided." 

"This isn't a game. You can't take that back. If you're gone, you're gone for good. Do you know how many people would jump at the chance to take your spot if you left? I should have kicked you out after that stunt you pulled at the tribute, but I'm giving you another chance. I'll give you ten minutes to think it over."

"You can keep your ten minutes, because I don't need them!"

"Kogane!" Iverson leapt to his feet. "You're expelled."

"I already dropped out!" Keith turned his back on the commander. His hands, curled up, felt like they'd remain fists forever. He wasn't sure if he or Iverson were right about whether he was being expelled or he was quitting, but it was Iverson who was going to decide what ended up on his record.

"If you're deserting the garrison, I need you to wait for an escort off the grounds," Iverson growled.

"Forget it. I know the way."

"Kogane, you don't have to—"

Keith didn't wait around to hear what Iverson was going to say he didn't have to do. It didn't matter what Iverson said or did. Keith had made up his mind. He had to go.

Back at his room, it didn't take him long to gather up what he wanted to take. No one came to see him go, because no one knew that he was going—and he'd probably alienated everyone enough that no one would care. No guards showed up, either. Iverson must not have thought it was necessary to call for that escort, after all. Keith didn't know if that was _nice_ of him, but he appreciated it. He didn't want to risk anyone realizing that the duffel bag he was carrying was Shiro's and not his.

It was surreal to walk through the halls, knowing it might be the last time he ever did so. He remembered walking there with Shiro before the mission. Shiro's hand on his arm. Shiro laughing and teasing him. His voice, his smile. His dark eyes narrowing slightly, as that one, longer lock of black hair almost fell into them. It was possible he wasn't ever going to hear that voice or see that face again. The halls were quiet now, between classes, but even if they had been crowded with students, this place would have felt too empty without Shiro here. The whole world felt too empty.

Keith started walking. He probably could have asked for someone to drive him into town, but he was too proud to ask. Maybe Iverson hadn't been trying to be nice, after all, leaving him to find his own way. Or maybe he'd assumed Keith would change his mind about leaving, faced with a long walk on his own. He didn't know Keith well enough. Keith preferred making his own way.

The guards at the gate must have been informed of his coming departure, because they didn't stop him. They waved him through. And then he was alone, with Shiro's duffel bag.

It was still light out, and the only star visible was the sun. There was a thin layer of cloud blanketing the sky, but the warmth of the sun came though, brightening one high spot, and turning the gray there to white. Keith felt that buzzing in his head again, but he knew by now not to think about it too much, or it would fade. He let it do what it wanted, remaining only dimly conscious of it. 

"It's just you and me now, Shiro," he said. Shiro was gone, but he was still by Keith's side. Keith couldn't have escaped the memories of him if he'd tried, and he didn't want to try. "But I don't know where we should go."

Keith used to let himself entertain the idea that, even though he didn't have stars, he had something else, in place of them, that hadn't manifested itself yet—though he'd only started thinking that when he'd started to get to know Shiro. Nothing strange or wonderful had ever revealed itself in him, except for the feeling of loving someone, but that was wonderful enough, wasn't it?

It hurt right now, but it was wonderful. "I know what you'd say. I should have calmed down and thought it out. Or you'd say I could still go back and apologize, and Iverson might listen." It calmed him to talk to Shiro as he walked, just as Shiro's presence had had that inimitable way of calming him. "You're probably right. As usual."

He wasn't sure if Shiro was still out there somewhere. He wasn't sure if he believed in any kind of afterlife, but he believed in the bond he had with Shiro. It had nothing to do with luminescing, but it was real. "But I'm not going back," he said. "Because I made up my mind." Keith had always cared a great deal about what Shiro had thought and said, but he hadn't always followed his advice.

He didn't know where he was going to go. He felt more alone than he had when he was a kid, because he'd learned what it was like, to have real, worthwhile company. Now he felt the absence of company. "I don't know if you're—alive," he said. His eyes stung, and he was the only person around to hear the catch in his throat that interrupted his voice—which was good, because it was private, and not anyone's business. "But I guess I'm going to look for you. That probably sounds crazy. And maybe I don't mean that I'll find you, but I know there's something I have to do for you." What, he didn't know. How he would find out what it was—okay, there were a lot of things he hadn't planned out, but he was moving on instinct, since if he didn't, he'd stop moving altogether.

"I won't give up on you," he added. "You never gave up on me."


	5. Antares, Binary System

He was alone. For a long time. It wasn't that he didn't see anyone—he did have to get food and water and acknowledge that the rest of civilization existed, so he could survive. If not for the grim reason that he'd come to be on his own, he might have let himself genuinely like it out here. The solitude suited him: the wide open expanses, and the desolate rocks with their secret caches of life bursting from unexpected places. Out here, he didn't even have the light pollution from the garrison to contend with. It was only him and the stars and the stones. It was funny, how easily he'd been able to slip away from the world, as if he hadn't belonged there in the first place.

When Keith stretched out on his back, gazing up at the sky, it felt like he'd fall right off the Earth and into that darkness, which was calling to him. If he could have left Earth, if he could have left orbit, he would have. He'd have gone searching for Shiro in the infinity of space, no matter whether he had a chance of finding him. Making that effort, even if it was doomed, would have been better than not trying. Stuck here on Earth, he was still trying, but it was hard to tell if he was coming closer to succeeding.

That sense in his head, of something being _out there_ , waiting for him, didn't go away. Instead, it got stronger. Other people might assume that, roaming alone, he was slowly losing his grip on reality, but that wasn't how he felt. He felt as if reality was closer than it had ever been.

Wandering the desert, Keith should have been more surprised than he was to find himself at the old cabin. He remembered it, like a dream he'd once had. A dream about the sound of his father's voice. It had been waiting here for him, along with something else. He didn't know what constellation his parents' stars had formed. Once, in a movie, he'd watched a mother and father show their kid their stars, which were on their shoulders. "These are the stars that led us to you," they'd said, which had annoyed Keith at the time. 

Instead of family stars, he had a family knife. He'd brought the knife with him into the desert. He'd never leave it behind. A knife was more useful than stars, but he'd never been able to figure out exactly what kind of blade it was. The shape and the symbol on the hilt were strange. They didn't seem to match any culture he'd heard of. As an heirloom, he assumed it was old, but it looked new, untouched. Could a knife lead you anywhere? Sure, if you threw it, it would lead you a short way, but that wasn't the same. While waiting for the sun to set so he could watch the stars, Keith would sometimes study his knife instead, tapping at it with his fingernail. It didn't offer up any answers. He'd rather have his parents. But he didn't want to think about that too much.

Living on his own, Keith felt like he'd arrived on a different world, although it was only the desert. There was no one here to ask him irritating questions. He could wake or sleep when he wanted. He preferred to sleep in short intervals, rather than the long stretches enforced at the garrison. He'd escaped human civilization. Good. About time.

Away from everyone else, he found himself with much more to do than he'd expected, because there _was_ something out here, drawing him in. Then keeping him close. The first time he found strange markings in the caves, it strengthened the impression that he had left Earth for somewhere else. It strengthened his resolve to stay out here, too. He started taking notes on everything he found, and the notes began to coalesce into a whole that had a much greater meaning than its parts.

One afternoon, he placed his hand carefully on one of the cave paintings, despite knowing you weren't supposed to touch delicate, ancient art. He wanted to see if it reacted to him. He felt a tingling in his fingertips, but nothing happened. Were _these_ the markings that were leading him somewhere, instead of the star marks other people had? He made a study of them. When he took everything into account, he managed to puzzle out that he was reading a prediction, of an important coming event. The assumption made by whoever had left these signs was that they would be letting _someone_ know about it. That person was him, because there was no one else here. Someone in the past was talking—to him?

"If you're out there, Shiro," said Keith, into the darkness, "I'm still here for you." When he'd first left the garrison, he'd felt unsure about many things, but the more time passed—the more sure he felt, instead of less. He was heading toward something. The odd buzzing in his head was nearly constant now, and it didn't fade away anymore when he concentrated on it. He knew now that it was an energy source. Whatever that meant. He didn't fully understand it, but it was real.

"I'm not going to forget you. Hey, remember how we always used to look at the stars together? It feels like a long time since we did that." It had been about a year now. "They always looked better when I was with you. I guess everything did, but I felt like they meant something, back then."

In the dark cave lit by his small artificial light, Keith peered at the odd paintings that looked like some kind of animal—mountain lions? "I wonder what you'd make of these. You were always good at figuring this kind of thing out. Puzzles, I mean." Someone might have considered his habit of talking to Shiro another sign that he was losing it, but there was no one here to think that or tell him what he was doing was wrong. He preferred it that way. He didn't have time for people like that.

There was no one to tell him it was foolish for him to prepare for some kind of prophecy he only partially understood. Not that he would have listened, but it would have irked him to have to hear it. After all, what harm would it do to get ready for a particular day and wait to see what happened? So he waited. And he watched. He counted the days and double checked his calculations.

Keith watched the sun set, painting the sky pink and orange. It was beautiful, but every sunset on Earth this year was a sunset Shiro hadn't seen, so he watched them with mixed feelings. As the sky darkened into night, he admitted to himself what he was hoping for: something impossible.

That was when he saw it. A star falling from the sky. But it wasn't a star at all. He couldn't explain what it _was_ , but he knew he had to reach it, no matter what stood in his way.

The next hour or so passed with astounding speed. It wasn't a blur. Every action he took was clear and precise in his mind, but it was all accelerated. He didn't need to stop and think; he acted. He was working on instinct, not allowing himself to consider the consequences of his actions—such as assaulting garrison personnel. He didn't waste his time feeling guilty or concerned. If they hadn't wanted to be assaulted, they shouldn't have stood in his way.

When Keith saw the figure, laid out and restrained on the table, he was both surprised and unsurprised. He knew, even before he saw his face. Yes. Of course that was who it was. The person he'd been waiting for, for all this time. It made sense to him, as inexplicable as it was. For a moment, everything was as it should be, with Shiro in his arms. He wasn't dead. He was here. Alive. It had really happened—there had been marks, leading him to someone. They were marks on stone instead of marks on skin, but they didn't matter any less. Look, he was supposed to be with Shiro; why else would he be here when Shiro needed him most?

Then there were other people joining in, and—all right, that hadn't been predicted, and it wasn't what he had expected, but he could adjust and deal with that too. As he would have adjusted to a change in atmospheric conditions while he was flying. His current vehicle wasn't exactly designed to handle so many people, but he compensated. He was better at flying than anyone in the garrison. As long as his passengers did as he said and didn't get in his way, he was willing to take them with him. It meant he had someone who could keep a hold on Shiro while he drove them to safety.

Once they'd arrived back at the cabin, Keith laid Shiro down and chased the others away, so Shiro could have some privacy. Keith had recognized Matt's sister, but he didn't acknowledge her as such. The other two looked—vaguely familiar, from the garrison. Still, Shiro was his responsibility, not theirs. Keith waited beside him, waiting for him to wake up. He studied the odd prosthetic that had replaced Shiro's right arm, but he didn't go so far as to reach out and touch it. Instead, he touched Shiro's hair. Shiro still had that one, long lock which fell over his forehead, but it had turned white. There was a startlingly stark scar across the bridge of Shiro's nose. Keith frowned and brushed the hair out of Shiro's face, with a light touch.

He was still frowning when Shiro opened his eyes. They looked at each other for what could have been a full minute or an hour, until Shiro spoke, his voice strangely rough. "Keith? It's really you?"

Keith felt like he should say something meaningful, but instead he said, "Yeah."

"I should have known." Shiro held out his hand—the prosthetic. Despite the fact that it was unfamiliar, Keith reached out and took it without hesitation.

"Ah," Shiro said as he saw Keith's hand enfolded in his artificial one. He withdrew the prosthetic and offered the other hand instead. Keith took that hand, too, with the same lack of hesitation, but he squeezed this hand more tightly, reassuring himself that Shiro was warm and real. "What are you doing here?" Shiro asked. "And where is here?"

"I'm always here for you," said Keith. He thought he'd managed to be more meaningful that time.

Although Shiro had settled into a kind of peace while unconscious, he was already breathing hard again, obviously distressed. "We don't have time to rest—the aliens are coming here. There's no time."

Keith nodded, as if he knew what Shiro was talking about. He didn't, but he was going to listen to him, regardless. "We'll do what we need to," he said. "But first, here—" Keith turned aside, as Shiro sat up. Something had happened to Shiro, but he didn't seem injured now, which was fortunate. Keith's first aid training and supplies would only go so far. "You'll need something else to wear." Keith didn't know exactly what kind of garment Shiro was wearing, but he didn't like the look of it. He didn't like the smell of it, either. He unzipped Shiro's duffel bag. "Here." As he pulled out Shiro's clothes, he had never been more glad that he had stolen them.

Shiro accepted the clothes from Keith, then blinked once he saw exactly what he was holding. "How do you have these—" Shiro broke off, and smiled at him. "Maybe I shouldn't ask."

"I don't think anyone will find us out here, for a little while," said Keith. "This is—" It was hard to explain, all at once, so he summed up: "A place I've been living." He turned his back on Shiro, so that Shiro could have some privacy as he changed.

"I'm so glad to see you again." Shiro signaled that he was done changing by settling his hand on Keith's shoulder. 

"You had me a little worried," said Keith.

"Just a little?"

"Yeah. Not too much."

"How long has it been?" asked Shiro.

"A year."

"I thought it was longer. It felt like it."

"It did," Keith agreed. It had felt like ten years. Or ten thousand.

There was a knock on the door, and Shiro gave a start. Now it was Keith's turn to put his hand on Shiro's arm. "It's just some—guys from the garrison," said Keith. "They're fine. I guess."

Lance's voice sounded, from the other side of the door. "I can hear you talking in there. Are we going to have to stay out here all night? It's getting kind of cold."

"Apparently, I missed some things while I was out," said Shiro.

"A couple," said Keith, before raising his voice to address Lance. "You'll survive!"

"If Hunk gets hypothermia, it's going to be your fault," Lance warned.

Keith could just make out Hunk responding, "Stop threatening people with my hypothermia. Why can't you say you'll get hypothermia?"

"Because that's not as believable, Hunk."

"Why don't you both get hypothermia?" snapped Matt's sister.

Keith rolled his eyes.

"It looks like you've made some new friends," said Shiro.

"They're not my friends."

"Acquaintances, then."

Keith shrugged. He couldn't deny that they were acquaintances, after they'd all liberated Shiro together. Not that he'd needed their help, but they had helped. A little. Although he'd told Lance that they'd survive the cold, he'd feel bad if he left them out there too much longer. He was sure Shiro wouldn't want that, either. "Now it'll be _my_ fault if they get hypothermia," he muttered, before walking to the door. He raised his voice again before opening it. "If you're so cold you can't take it, then come in."

They filed in, and Keith found himself in the presence of too many people for his tastes. After a year spent mostly on his own, he was unused to conversation, let alone the flurry of it that erupted after he opened the door. He folded his arms and took a step back. He noticed that Shiro followed his lead in not acknowledging Matt's sister as such. As expected, Shiro was doing a much better job of talking to everyone than Keith was, so Keith let him take over, chiming in only when someone addressed him directly. Keith had been giving them orders, earlier, but it was better for Shiro to take the leadership role. He was more suited to it.

"I need to speak to Keith alone," said Shiro finally. "For a few minutes. You can all stay in here, where it's warmer. We'll go outside."

Keith suddenly felt unexpectedly nervous. He wasn't sure why. He had no reason to be, and he hadn't felt nervous when he was alone with Shiro before. Not that he would let any feeling stop him from talking to Shiro, so he nodded.

"I'll do whatever you need me to," Keith offered, as soon as they were clear of the cabin. "If we don't have much time, we shouldn't wait."

"It's almost dawn," said Shiro, glancing at the sky. "We'll move once it gets light. We have that much time, at least. Let's catch our breath first." Having begun to look up, he couldn't seem to tear his gaze from the sky and the stars above. "They've never looked so beautiful. And I know the names of them. Well, a lot of them. I never thought I'd see them again. When you see something again, after you thought you wouldn't—"

Keith's throat had closed up, and he couldn't speak, although he wanted to. He focused on his breathing.

"—it's even better than I remembered," Shiro concluded.

"It is," said Keith.

"Thanks, Keith." Shiro's hand found his shoulder again. It was true, when you thought something had been taken from you, and it came back, it was more astounding, more precious. "I was barely aware of what was going on, and then you show up—with my clothes."

"Anytime."

"We really don't have a lot of time," Shiro said, "but there's something I want to talk to you about. Maybe this isn't the right moment for this discussion, but we're both here now, and I'm not sure what's going to happen next."

Keith wasn't sure what Shiro wanted to talk about, but he wasn't in a state of mind to refuse him any request. "I can spare a few moments."

This reply inspired a flicker of smile from Shiro. "Do you remember a conversation we had, before I left—?"

"I remember everything."

"I confess, there are some things I've forgotten, but I remember talking to you. It was an important conversation. You know the one I mean. There was something I wanted to tell you, then. And ever since I—ever since things went wrong, I've been wishing that I had."

"You can tell me now."

"That's right. I can. I'm luckier than I thought I'd be."

"I'm the lucky one."

Shiro squeezed his shoulder. "You were telling me about how you felt. I should have told you then—though I think maybe you realized—"

Keith remained quiet, ready to listen to what Shiro had to say.

"I don't have any stars," said Shiro.

Keith was stunned. He gave no reaction, visual or verbal. Was this really happening? For Shiro to not only return, but to tell him something like this... Had he fallen asleep, and was he dreaming this now? "You mean—your arm?" asked Keith, glancing at Shiro's prosthetic. He hated the thought of Shiro being hurt to that extent, and he'd been reluctant to speak about it, but he was trying to make some sense of what Shiro was saying to him.

"No, I mean, I never did. I grew up without them. I didn't want to tell you this back then, but I don't want to hold you back. I'm not sure why I'm like this, but that's why we're not a match. It's not because there's anything wrong with you. There's someone out there that you're meant to be with, and—"

Was it true? Shiro had really been trying to protect him? Whatever he was saying, it had to be true. Shiro wouldn't lie to him. "Shiro," he said quickly. "I don't care about those anymore." Saying the words made him understand that he meant them.

"You say that now, but—"

Keith was normally content to listen to Shiro talk, but he didn't hesitate to interrupt him, if he had to. "You could never hold me back. I don't have any stars, either."

"You don't?"

"No. I never did, either." Keith felt a sense of relief, but also confusion. Did it mean what he wanted it to mean? "We're the same," he said. Somehow, they were, although it had to be a rare condition, one that wasn't known to occur for no reason. For the first time, he realized that Shiro must have been lonely. "Shiro, I still—"

Then Shiro was leaning in closer, and Keith turned to face him. He raised his head so their lips could meet. The kiss was brief, but not hesitant. He had a clear sense of Shiro's mouth against his, and the taste of his skin, before it was suddenly over. When Shiro drew back, Keith felt as dazed as if he'd been struck, but without any pain.

"Maybe I shouldn't have done that," said Shiro.

"You should have." Now he was the one leaning forward. He raised himself up to press his lips to Shiro's. It felt like a solemn exchange or a promise, but at the same time, the heat that swept through his body was nearly unbearable. He didn't mind that. He would have braved more than heat for Shiro.

"Don't go leaving me again," said Keith.

"Yes, sir."

"That's better." He reached out and slipped his hand into Shiro's. Shiro's answering grip was both unnerving and reassuring. It was unnerving because the rush of emotion was almost overloading him after his long solitude. Reassuring, because the physical proof of Shiro's presence granted him a sense of peace, for the first time since Shiro had gone away. "Are we—do you think it means we're—" _A match_ , Keith wanted to say, but when it came to actually saying it, it sounded too ridiculous in his mind to say out loud.

"Maybe it means we get to choose."

"I already chose," said Keith quickly.

"Me too," said Shiro.

This moment was limited. It was already nearing its end. They were going to go back inside soon, because they had to go. There were actions that had to be taken. There was so much Keith wanted to tell Shiro, but instead of speaking, he tightened his grip on his hand, as if he could communicate to him through pressure alone. Shiro returned the pressure, and although there were many things that remained unsaid, Keith felt that an understanding passed between them. There were many things he didn't have to say. The stars in the east were starting to fade as the sun rose, dyeing the horizon a pale pink-gold.


	6. Epilogue: Chemically Peculiar Star

The base was built into a mountain, on an uninhabited planet. While this part of the cave had been excavated and altered and was dry and climate controlled, Keith was nonetheless aware of the cold, wet, and wildness of the rest of the cave complex, pressing in on the small pocket of civilization that the Blade had forged here. The base lights were dim, the power output as low as possible, to minimize the chance of detection from orbit. Missions could be quick and deadly, and planning sessions could be intense, but there were sometimes long periods of waiting between them. This was one of those times. The right conditions couldn't be rushed. He might have felt anxious to act, but he'd learned a few truths about patience. He tried to remember them and keep them in practice.

Kolivan was running a series of checks on all the base's equipment, to make sure they wouldn't be surprised by any failures. As for Regris—Keith wasn't exactly sure where he was, but he'd said he was going to explore deeper within the cave. He'd probably come up with some research ideas and would be gone for a while. He and Kolivan were the only ones here now, and Keith was very aware of Kolivan's presence behind him. As large as Kolivan was, he made no sound as he moved, but Keith could sense where he was, without turning to look. 

Keith had been practicing the Galran language, but he had done enough memorizing for one day. He put his lesson aside, tucking his reader away into a convenient pocket in his suit. He decided to study something else instead, coming to stand behind Kolivan and watching him work. Some time passed like this: both of them silent, and neither feeling pressed to fill that silence with any sound.

It was Kolivan who spoke first, rising from a crouch to his full height. The low light made his yellow eyes seem brighter. "What's troubling you?" he asked.

Keith wasn't aware he'd been that obvious. The answer to Kolivan's question was complicated, more so than he could express, so he didn't attempt to answer it. Much of what was preoccupying him wasn't concrete enough for him to discuss.

"Troubles can cloud the mind." said Kolivan, when he didn't answer. "A clouded mind clouds your focus." Leaving the machine he'd been examining, Kolivan crossed to the far side of the room, where a few low seats had been placed. He sat, and Keith followed suit. "What I mean," Kolivan added, once he had settled into his seat, "is that you shouldn't let your worries weigh on you."

What Keith was most worried about was Shiro, but those worries were too complex and undefined for him to speak about now. He might have considered confiding in another person, especially one like Kolivan, but how could he discuss something he couldn't begin to articulate? It might have been nothing. "I know I shouldn't," said Keith, "but what if you don't know what you're worried about?"

"Worried about worries? That is a problem," said Kolivan. He pressed the knuckles of one hand thoughtfully against his chin. "What _can_ you tell me?"

Keith was well aware that he was human. He had been raised by humans, and he knew their culture better than any other. Yet he was something else, too. Galra culture intrigued him, because of how little he knew about it. As so much about humanity had alienated him, he'd wondered whether this alien culture would make him feel at home. Kolivan was the first representative of the Galra he'd been able to talk to at length, and was the one with the most experience and patience. Keith relied on him for insight into a people he hadn't been aware of the existence of, until recently. "Can I ask a question?"

"You just have."

Galra didn't entirely understand lead-up questions, Keith reminded himself. It wasn't that Kolivan acted as if it bothered him, but he couldn't seem to grasp the reason for asking about asking, and it entertained him. Like worrying about worrying—maybe these were more human behaviors.

"It's about Galra," said Keith.

"I think I can speak on that subject."

"Galra don't—light up, right?" That sounded ridiculous, didn't it? Keith already knew he'd started to talk about this the wrong way. It wasn't that he usually had difficulties talking to Kolivan, but this subject was an awkward one.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Humans—have marks that light up. They're born with them."

"Like the Alteans?" Kolivan asked.

"Not exactly." The Alteans' markings had a soft, constant glow. They didn't brighten or dim in response to anything, as far as Keith knew.

"I've never seen marks like that on you humans."

"No, you wouldn't have." None of the paladins had visible stars, and Keith had managed to avoid talking about them, for the most part. When you had the entire universe to worry about, a few stars could be set aside. "They're not always visible."

"I see," said Kolivan. "And do you have them?"

"No, I don't."

"Do you wish that you did?"

"Not anymore."

Kolivan accepted this response without questioning the reason for it. "What's the significance of the human lights?" he prodded gently, when Keith wasn't forthcoming.

"Do Galra—I mean, you must do things like get married. Or pair up. Don't you?" In spite of the many lessons Kolivan had taught him about the Galra and the Blade, this was a topic Keith had never asked about. He was wishing he hadn't asked about it now, as his words continued to strike him as ridiculous and ill-chosen.

"We do, yes. That's possible." Kolivan had a way of seeming amused, without displaying any definite sign of amusement that could be pinpointed. "And do humans?"

"They do. But not always."

"Like Galra, then. And these lights have something to do with that?"

"A few things," Keith began, then continued, explaining the phenomenon as well as he could—the stars and the poems and all of it. As Keith tried to explain the concept to Kolivan, he suspected Kolivan might be dismissive or uninterested. This wasn't a matter that would be of interest to the Blade. It would make no difference in their fight; it was nothing but a distraction. Yet Kolivan listened patiently to the story of humans and their constellations. Keith had always been so reluctant to discuss this subject; and here he was serving as a representative of humanity, telling another species all about the human traditions that he'd once felt so oppressed by. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

What Kolivan said in response surprised him. "Galra are similar."

"Similar? How?"

"We don't have such markings, but we do form permanent pair bonds." He paused before adding, "some of us do. However—" Kolivan's eyes were clear and bright, his gaze steady on Keith. Keith had no knowledge of what Kolivan's own personal experience with bonding might be, but the Galra said this with a purely neutral tone. "You won't know your match when you meet them. It's a mystery to us. Such a bond can only be won through fortitude and shared struggle . Yet once it's formed, it cannot be broken. And a Galra will not take a second mate."

"What if there's a problem?"

"There are always problems," said Kolivan. "Yet a bond like this is stronger than any weapon."

If Keith had known, from the first, that he wasn't fully human, it might have helped to illuminate the reason his physical difference and mental differences, but he doubted it would have made him feel less alone. He might even have felt more alienated, knowing how specifically and unalterably he was set apart—it was in his DNA, in his very chemical makeup. Regardless, he hadn't known, and there was no sense in wondering what it would have been like, if his life had been different. It was a question that wouldn't be answered.

"Sometimes," said Kolivan, "it must be fought for."

For Galra, a goal to struggle toward gave purpose. It was more desirable than a life without struggle. He understood that well enough now. Keith pictured Shiro, reaching out to clasp his hand. Smiling at him. Settling a hand on his shoulder. Laughing. Or else turning away, his expression suddenly troubled by something unseen: a memory, or a doubt. He collected all his images of Shiro. Even when he was far from him, he had Shiro at his side.

He'd been very, very far away from him, more than once. Each time, he'd reunited with him.

"What Galra hope for is a mate with whom they can share their fight and their doubts," said Kolivan. "The weaknesses of one are complemented by the strengths of the other. I don't doubt that humans must fight for their partner, too. But for us, at the start of the fight, we must battle our uncertainty, too. A great fight. It us teaches much."

Keith wasn't sure if he could come to think that dealing with uncertainty was a positive, when he was still dealing with it, where some things were concerned. Although not when it came to the matter they were discussing now.

"Once you know your partner's name, all uncertainty will fall away from you."

"Right. I know that."

Kolivan inclined his head, as if to accept that this was true, and Keith wondered what Kolivan thought he meant. He didn't say. Instead, he asked, "Have I answered your questions?" 

"Yes. For now."

"If you have any more, I'll answer those also." 

Keith appreciated Kolivan's patience, when it came to teaching him about the Galra. He'd wanted to have a better understanding of that side of himself—he didn't understand completely, not yet, but he had a much better sense of what it meant to be Galra than he had previously. That was another struggle, the difficulty of finding a balance.

"You are fierce and dedicated," said Kolivan, rising to his feet. "You'll make your partner proud."

"Thanks," said Keith. If his Galra heritage was the reason he'd been born without stars, then had Shiro been born without stars simply—because Keith was? Shiro was human, but what if his match wasn't? Would that have changed something written into his DNA? Such a deep, chemical change. Keith agreed now, with something Shiro had said before—these things were much more complicated than they initially seemed to be. More confusing, too, but not always unpleasant. Half the time, Keith didn't know what he was doing, but he did know what it felt like when Shiro's arms came around him. He felt sure. He felt like he belonged.

Kolivan, with a few long strides, returned to the equipment he'd been working on and made some quick movements with his broad hands. A row of monitors lit up—dimly, like everything illuminated in here. "Here's a visual of our current position and the surrounding star systems," said Kolivan.

Keith leaned in to see the image more closely.

"There we are, and there's where the Voltron team is currently." Two points on the star map changed color. Keith's eyes went at once to the one that represented the Castle of Lions, glowing pale blue, like Altean energy. As usual, the first thing Keith thought of was his place in the universe, as relative to Shiro. He tried to estimate how many miles that was, considering how many stars lay between them, but that kind of calculation was beyond him. It was a long way. But at the same time, it wasn't any distance at all.


End file.
